


A Casual Engagement

by Burning_Nightingale



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Casual Sex, Dysfunctional Family, Family Dynamics, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 05:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/Burning_Nightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis and Morgan start something casual, which slowly blossoms into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt at the kinkmeme: http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/22430.html?thread=95411870#t95411870
> 
> This prompt would not leave me alone! Sorry if anything comes across as weird, anyone; I wrote this quite quickly! 
> 
> (Also can anyone spot the tiny hint at my fave crack pairing? Probably not xD)

Francis had begun making eyes at him over dinner, when they were sitting around the table with the rest of his siblings eating noisily around them. It came completely out of the blue, and it took Morgan a few minutes to realize what was happening. One minute he was innocently tucking into chips and steak; the next he was being…stared up? He couldn’t call it being chatted up, as Francis was hardly talking to him. In fact, the Frenchman was hardly talking at all. He added into the conversation a few suggestive hints, so very subtle, always combined with a loaded look across the table.

At first Morgan was surprised; they’d known each other for years, and Francis had never shown any interest in him at all. It had always been Arthur when they were younger, when Francis had liked to tease their younger sibling and give him bad hair-cuts. Then for ages it had been Alastair he liked, what with their constant renewals of the Auld Alliance and their glee at anything they could do to sabotage or annoy Arthur. Then, after the Union of Crowns, Francis had seemingly hated both of them equally (though how much it was love/hate in Arthur’s case, only those two could say). That had lasted until the Entente Cordiale; though even when they settled their differences Arthur and Francis had never had anything concrete, and Morgan had often wondered (among others) if Francis actually _wanted_ anything more formal with his younger sibling.

It now seemed the answer to that was a definite _no_ , because the most sure-fire way to earn Arthur’s undying enmity was to pass him over for someone else.

Which _was_ what Francis was doing, wasn’t it? He was being fairly understated; though, if he had been any more obvious, the others might have noticed by now. _Or not_ , Morgan thought to himself, glancing down the table to where Arthur and Alastair were bickering. _Maybe he’s taking advantage of the situation_.

Was that a foot? Morgan blinked and looked directly over at the Frenchman, who was already grinning back at him. Seductively. That was definitely a seductive grin. Morgan blinked as the foot brushed teasingly against his calf, trailing softly, then disappeared. Across the table, Francis raised a single brow in what was obviously invitation as he finished off the last of his meal.

Morgan glanced down the table again. Arthur would be annoyed…Morgan grinned. When _wasn’t_ Arthur annoyed? Anyway, if he had wanted to make some long-lasting claim on Francis, he had had ample opportunity to do it. They weren’t at all exclusive. He looked back across the table and gave Francis a grin, one that obviously said, ‘Yes, why not?’ and the Frenchman beamed back at him.

“Have you two finished with your plates?” Erin asked grumpily.

“You eager for dessert, sis?” Alastair grinned at her, instantly switching his attention from Arthur. “You know all those cakes and tarts and… _waffles_ …are just empty carbs, right?”

Erin slammed a hand down on the table. “Don’t you dare talk about my hips!” she yelled.

Alastair laughed. “I didn’t even mention your hips!” He paused and then grinned nastily, “Even if they are the width of the Emerald Isle!”

“Yeah?” Erin yelled, “What about how your cock is about as monstrous as that newt you call a Loch Monster?!”

The grin fell from Alastair’s face and he stood from the table with alarming speed. “You wanna insult Nessie? Is that the way you wanna play this, woman?!”

Morgan rolled his eyes and got up from the table, holding out a hand for Francis’ plate, which the Frenchman handed over to him while suppressing chuckles. With the way things were going, Morgan would definitely rather be with him than his family tonight. When things got round to insulting their patron magical creatures, it was best for those not involved to quickly leave the room. Morgan observed this hurriedly, followed swiftly by Francis, Arthur, Seamus and Peter, all escaping the screaming row brewing on the other side of the door.

“Did you get all the plates?” Peter asked cheerfully, hopping up onto the tiny stool that allowed him to reach the sink. For some reason, he was always insanely cheerful about and eager to do the dishes.

Morgan dumped the plates he was holding on the drainer, then moved aside for the others. “I think we got everything,” Arthur nodded, moving around to Peter’s other side and grabbing a drying up cloth.

Morgan stepped back and glanced in Francis’ direction, and found him already looking his way. He raised an eyebrow suggestively, and Morgan excused them with a quick, “Well, looks like you guys can handle this,” and they left quickly before too many protests could be made.

He gave Francis a small smile when he turned from shutting the bedroom door behind him. “You’re aware of how much this will piss off a certain someone, right?” he asked, coming closer to the bed that Francis had perched himself on the edge of.

The smirk that graced Francis’ face was his own particular brand of smug. “There is nothing formal to worry about,” he said airily. “We’ve never been a _couple_. And besides, now…” Francis’ smirk became wider, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Don’t worry,” Morgan snorted, “I’m quite up to date on that particular saga.”

“All he can talk about, _non_?” Francis asked with a devious smile.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “You really wanna spend all night talking about Arthur?”

Francis’ look became predatory. “Goodness, no,” he grinned, an almost feral look, and pulled Morgan down by the front of his T-shirt.

And the Welshman couldn’t say he was dissatisfied with the offering. Francis hadn’t got his reputation for nothing, after all. The sex was hot and just the right kind of messy and all over the bed and Morgan was probably being pretty loud but Francis was matching him in that department. There was a lot of kissing (on the mouth and elsewhere), and Francis seemed to take inordinate delight in slipping his hands over the well-defined chest he uncovered under Morgan’s thin T-shirt (he knew those gym workouts had been good for something). Then there were no clothes at all and everything was a tangle of limbs and slight keening as Morgan slipped wet fingers into Francis, who bit his shoulder and growled something unintelligible into his ear. The Frenchman was challenging but giving, and he gasped very prettily when Morgan nipped his neck and thrust fast into him and just _god_.

The clock read only 10:32 when they finally lay quietly side-by-side, a soft orange glow from the streetlight outside seeping over the bedclothes from the open curtains. Morgan didn’t say anything; he was no stranger to these one-night encounters, but that had never made it any easier for him to find a subject to talk about, if one was needed.

Francis, though, seemed to sense this about him, and turned on his side to face him. “Would you shut the curtains?” he asked softly. “I’d quite like to sleep, if you don’t mind going to bed early. It was a long drive this morning.”

“Sure.” Morgan got up and pulled the thick curtains closed. When he came back to the bed, Francis seemed to already be asleep. He smiled to himself; of course, the drive from Paris took about five hours, and since he got here at noon Francis must have started at seven this morning. He contemplated going to another bed for the night, but then decided against it and lay down. It was warm and comfortable, sharing the bed with someone else for once. He slipped into sleep with a small smile gracing his lips. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning dawned bright and early, with a loud accompaniment of bagpipes (and the shouting match that resulted from them, which was even louder). Morgan often managed to sleep through it, but this morning he was woken by restless shifting in the bed next to him. Without turning over, he asked, “Hard to sleep through, isn’t it?”

Francis huffed. “Why must you all always make so much _noise_? I had forgotten what it was like to permanently live with others.”

Morgan sighed and turned over to face him. “Luckily for me, I don’t permanently live with them; else I think I’d go mad.”

Francis laughed, and they lay in silence for a moment, listening to muffled angry screaming and the wail of bagpipes. “I suppose we should get up,” he said after a moment.

Morgan grinned over at him. “Unless you want to stay…?”

Francis grinned back at him and leaned over to peck him on the lips. “Another time, _cher_. For now, forgive me, but I am desperately hungry.”

Morgan lent Francis a dressing gown, and wore a T-shirt and pyjama pants himself. When they entered the kitchen they found Arthur and Peter sitting across the table from each other, Arthur reading the newspaper and nursing a cup of tea, and Peter poking dejectedly at a bowl of porridge.

“I don’t know why you don’t just buy him normal cereal,” Morgan indicated Peter’s bowl as he walked over to the kettle.

Arthur sent him an acidic glare over the top of his newspaper. “Too much sugar,” he snapped, then hid his face again.

Morgan shrugged. “Would you like coffee, Francis?”

The Frenchman nodded, and sat down at the table next to Peter. With Arthur hidden behind the newspaper, he inconspicuously began to eat Peter’s porridge, much to the boy’s delight. Morgan grinned to himself as he made up one mug of coffee and one of tea, and brought them to the table after putting some toast in the toaster. “Al arguing with ‘Rin about his pipes again?”

“She was calling him a-”

“Please do _not_ repeat Erin’s insults in polite company, Peter,” Arthur interrupted, glaring over the newspaper again. “And I can see you eating that porridge, frog.”

Francis chuckled and kicked him gently under the table. “Having a grouchy morning, are we?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and disappeared behind the newspaper again. Morgan brought over a rack full of toast, along with some butter and jam, and sat down next to him.

Things were moderately peaceful; the noise from upstairs petered out, and Seamus appeared after a while, looking bleary and out-of-it. Arthur chided him for staying up too late on the internet (which he insisted he hadn’t done, but that was doubtful), but their burgeoning argument was interrupted by the appearance of Alastair and Erin, the former of whom demanded porridge while the latter made yet more tea. A lively conversation soon started, and it seemed like no time at all before breakfast was finished, cleared away and Francis was at the front door, bag in hand. “Only a flying visit this time, I’m afraid,” he said cheerfully. “I will return soon, I hope. I do so love being awoken at the crack of dawn by a noise like a thousand dying cats.”

“You be careful whose dying cat instrument you insult,” Alastair told him darkly, and with that and one knowing wink in Morgan’s direction, Francis was gone.

“Well,” Erin said when they were back in the kitchen, “ _That_ was an interesting visit. Don’t you think, Morgan?”

Morgan sniffed and focused on that week’s TV Guide. “I don’t know what you mean.”

~~~

A few weeks later, Morgan was wandering the streets of Paris. He knew that at any moment he could be intercepted by a certain blonde-haired personage; in fact, he had been expecting it from the moment he had set foot on French soil. The longer time that elapsed between his arrival and Francis’ appearance, the more certain he was that it would occur.

It didn’t seem logical, but he disregarded that.

At random he chose a small café and ordered a coffee, and sat down at one of their outside tables. The day was mild and fairly warm for early May, and everyone around him seemed in a good mood. He leant back, lit a cigarette and began to read a newspaper, and feigned nonchalance when a familiar figure took the seat opposite him. “Took you long enough,” he commented, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“I am a busy man, darling.” Francis hummed over the menu before asking the waitress to bring him some kind of sweet cake. When she’d left the table, he leaned over it and asked, “So, it’s not often I see you here.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never been here before.”

“In Paris,” Francis laughed, “not in this café, silly.”

Morgan shrugged. “Occasionally even I feel like a change of scene.”

“You got tired of daffodils and sheep?” Morgan gave him a slight glare and he laughed. “Forgive me, _mon ami_. Daffodils are beautiful flowers.”

“Damn straight,” Morgan muttered, returning to the newspaper. “So, what made you decide to show up?”

“I had a free moment.” The waitress returned with the cake, and Francis began to pick at it with a fork. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here, though.”

“Always enjoyed a little cultural appreciation.”

“Hmm.”

“No need to sound so sceptical.”

Francis laughed. “Not to be rude, but you don’t seem the type to spend hours in an art gallery.”

Morgan shrugged. “Maybe not hours, but I can do a little while at least.”

“I’ll need to take you out sometime, then.” Francis waved his fork at him, grinning mischievously. “Want a taste?”

Morgan raised his eyebrows at Francis’ suggestive look, but accepted the mouthful anyway. “Very nice. Lemon?”

“Lemon sponge.” Francis nibbled a bit more before leaning back in his seat and giving Morgan a long look. When the Welshman raised a questioning eyebrow, he said, “I think I have figured out why you are here.”

“Oh, do tell,” Morgan snorted.

“You’re simply here for the cheap booze and cigarettes, aren’t you? _Mon dieu_ , I am so unloved.”

“You know me, wave around a bit of cheap booze and I’ll come running.” When Francis gave him an offended look, Morgan laughed. “Honestly, don’t take that literally.” Then he smiled mischievously. “I actually came just to see a certain pretty face.”

 _That_ made Francis look interested. “Oh really?” he asked, spearing a piece of the cake and eating it…slowly…from the fork. “Now that sounds like a much better prospect for me, _non_?” He winked, and they grinned knowingly at each other.

Later, when they had made their way back to Francis’ house (and managed to make it to the bed), Morgan lay on his back, stretching out his long legs and arms.

Francis sighed beside him. “It feels so indulgent to be lazing around like this in the middle of the day,” he mused, brushing one hand across Morgan’s stomach and chest absently.

Morgan crossed his arms behind his head on the pillow. “I have an excuse; I’m on holiday.”

Francis laughed lowly. “Indeed. But what about me? I’m ducking out of work, I’ll have you know. I hope you have a decent excuse for me to give my boss.”

Morgan grinned and turned over to face him. “Just tell him the most handsome man you have even seen swung in through your window and would not be denied, so you had to accept his amorous advances and thus were indisposed to come to work.”

Francis laughed and kissed the end of his nose. “ _Oui_ , I’m sure he will believe me. The cases of beautiful men swinging in through third floor Parisian townhouse windows are widely documented, as you most probably know.”

Morgan slipped his arms around him, pulling the Frenchman closer. “Besides, who cares about your boss?” he asked, smirking. “You have all the time in the world, right?”

“So you like to think,” Francis said, his voice mockingly affronted, but he didn’t stop Morgan from pulling him in for a kiss.

Later still, after Francis had convinced him that he simply _must_ stay with him instead of in the hotel he had booked himself into, and after Morgan had been out to collect his things and check out of said hotel, they went out for dinner. Francis found them a tiny little restaurant by the river that was frequented solely by Parisian locals, and they chatted into the early hours about everything and anything and not much of particular importance.

When the evening was really winding down and Morgan was thinking about calling the waiter over for the bill, Francis sighed and said, “So, only two more days to enjoy your company, _mon cher_.”

Morgan smiled. “Unfortunately, though I’m less busy than some, I do still have things to do.”

“Hopefully annoying your younger brother is at the top of that list?”

“Which one?” Morgan laughed, “They’re all younger than me.”

Francis waved a hand. “I’m sorry; I forget who is oldest and who is youngest, all the time.” He paused and took a long sip of his wine. “But you will come and see me again, _non_?”

Morgan wasn’t sure what was implicit in that, so he decided to read nothing into it. And he wouldn’t be lying if he said he wanted to do this again. Quite a few times, even. “You could barely keep me away,” he promised, lifting his own wine glass and tapping it against Francis’ with a satisfying _clink_. 


	3. Chapter 3

Staying at Morgan’s house was something Francis very much looked forward to – especially nowadays – but there were times when he didn’t find the Welshman at home, and had to settle for staying wherever he happened to be.

Unfortunately, that usually meant staying with Arthur, because if he wasn’t in Cardiff, Morgan was often in London.

“You’ve been hanging around a lot more recently,” said Englishman muttered grumpily from his spot in the armchair, glaring over at Francis, who was sitting on the sofa.

“Obviously I just want to be closer to your darling presence, my dear,” Francis snorted, not looking away from the television.

“Yeah, right,” Arthur growled, huddling further into the chair and glaring harder.

The next evening Francis found himself outside with Arthur, smoking together in the relative quiet of the garden. It wasn’t a large space, but there was room to sit outside on nice summer evenings and just about enough room to set up a badminton net on the lawn occasionally. The distant hum of traffic and city noise was muted by the large brick walls surrounding them.

“Anarchy has descended on the house,” Francis murmured quietly, smiling, looking back toward the bright window of the sitting room.

Arthur sighed and shook his head. “I have it bad enough with the usual suspects visiting, let alone those two added to the mix.”

Francis smiled to himself. They’d met Kaelin and Jett off the aeroplane from Sydney that morning, both bursting with energy and neither seeming to suffer from jetlag. With both them and all Arthur’s brothers in the house, dinner had been a loud and boisterous affair.

They stood in silence for a while, with Arthur finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out on the arm of one of the garden chairs. He made to go inside, but Francis cleared his throat.

When Arthur looked round questioningly at him, Francis started, “Before you go inside, I just…” He paused for a while, gathering his thoughts, then continued. “I just want you to know that I’m not intending to hurt you with all this.”

“All this?” Arthur questioned.

“You know what I mean, _mon cher_. Me and Morgan, Morgan and I. All of that.”

Arthur looked away and nodded. “It’s been going on for too long to be just a fling to annoy me, I suppose.”

Francis shrugged. “I don’t know what _it_ is, but I want you to be happy with it.”

Arthur smiled slightly. “You know, I don’t really think it bothers me.”

“Much as you like to intimate that it does.”

“Well, you annoy me, I annoy you,” Arthur grinned, “We do that.”

Francis smiled fondly. “We do that.” There was a pause where neither of them said anything, and then Francis said, “Besides, surely you will be focusing your attentions on-”

“And that is where this heart-to-heart stops and normal service is resumed,” Arthur cut him off, glaring half-heartedly. “Because some things simply do not concern you, frog.”

“Ah, Arthur,” Francis sighed affectionately, “When will you learn? I am not to be deterred, my friend. I play matchmaker like a grand chess master.”

Arthur snorted. “I’d like to see you try.” Then the glare returned, this time full force. “But I’m warning you frog, none of your funny business with my brother. Morgan may look all gruff and tough on the outside, but he’s one of those quiet, gentle souls underneath. I won’t stand for you doing any of your heart-breaking whatnot.”

Francis patted him on the arm. “Do not worry; I know him well enough to know that. We’re just taking things as they come, anyway.”

Arthur sniffed. “Well, I’m watching you. Don’t forget.”

~~~

Back inside, Morgan was sitting between Alastair and Erin on the sofa, keeping the peace between them as usual. For the past five minutes he’d been trying to ignore it, but when he looked up again it was definite; Kaelin was staring at him hard from the other side of the coffee table. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“You and Francis…” Kaelin made a vaguely expressive hand gesture.

Morgan shrugged. “There’s a tentative me and Francis. What of it?”

Kaelin nodded. “I knew it.”

From the other side of the room, Jett snorted derisively. “No shit, Sherlock.”

Kaelin frowned and threw a peanut in his general direction. “Shut up, asshole.” He turned back to look at Morgan. “So, I wouldn’t have pegged him for the relationship kinda guy.”

“Um, well, it’s not really…” Morgan started, before Alastair butted in.

“Yeah, I mean he likes sex but ‘faithful relationship’ is in his repertoire, you know. Speaking of, you must be celebrating your like, four months anniversary or something soon, right?” he asked, turning to Morgan.

Morgan shifted uncomfortably. “Now, don’t get the impression-”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed about it,” Erin said from his other side.

“I’m not-”

“We could help you celebrate!” Kaelin said happily. “Something classy, but maybe classic, like just a casual dinner…”

“You’re such a girl,” Jett snorted, and Kaelin pelted him with another barrage of peanuts.

“Would you stop throwing food around, you uncivilized child!” Alastair laughed, leaning over to snatch the peanut bowl from Kaelin’s grasp.

“That’s my source of ammunition!” Kaelin cried.

“I say just spread a whole load of roses on the bed and lie there naked,” Erin said, nodding decisively. “Best to cut to the chase.”

Morgan shook his head. “Could you all just not-”

“Says the sex expert over there,” Alastair sneered, eating a handful of the peanuts.

“What’s in my pants has seen more action than what’s in yours,” Erin snapped, making a rude gesture with her middle finger at him.

“I’ll show you mine if you’ll-”

“Oh my god, you guys are so weird,” Seamus cried from the corner, “Why can’t you just be like a normal brother and sister?”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Alastair smirked. “If we were normal, I couldn’t tell her with no trouble to my conscience how fat her hips-”

“How about I strangle you with a haggis?!” Erin yelled, attempting to leap over Morgan to get at Alastair, at which point the conversation about Morgan and Francis’ relationship was thankfully forgotten. 


End file.
